Windmills of the Mind
by drama-princess
Summary: During a passionate night, Christian reflects on the nature of the Moulin Rouge. Please read and review!


_Disclaimer: All characters are property of their respective owners. Although I suppose I wouldn't object too strenuously if someone wanted to give me Christian. Windmills of Your Mind is copyright Dusty Springfield. This story is property of myself, and please don't take it and pass it off as your own or archive it without my permission. Thanks!  
  
Dedication: The Red Room Diamonds, of course-- Kara, Celyn, and Hannah, but especially Madi, for giving me the wonderful song to work with. You rock, my Bohemian chica.   
  
_

Windmills of the Mind  


  
~Round~**  
******   
God, she was so beautiful. He could sit at her feet for hours and gaze up adoringly. That smooth cheek that tapered down to her delicate chin. A man could get lost in the sweetness of those blue eyes. Hair that flew from scarlet to crimson to auburn, depending on the whim of the light. In the dimmed candlelight, it was just a few shades darker than her lips.   
  
What are you thinking? she murmured, her fingers lazily learning the feeling of his lips as she spoke. She let her hand cup his chin as she drank in the features of his face. He smiled at her and drew the arm that cradled her waist closer. The scent of her, the beauty of her. . . it was too much.   
  
_~Like a circle in a spiral  
Like a wheel within a wheel**  
**Never ending or beginning   
On an ever-spinning reel~  
  
_ was his terse reply before he began kissing the hollow in her neck. She gasped lightly and ran her fingers through his black hair, pausing at the back of his head as he began to press those kisses a little lower. Fire shot through her veins like the serpent's kiss of alcohol. She wondered briefly, with a spark of jealousy that startled her, if he had ever kissed another woman before her.   
  
She touched the small triangle of warm skin at the base of his neck that was so alluring to her. He wore his shirts loose and untucked when he worked, and that brief glimpse of his chest called to her so badly that she just wanted to take him in her arms and kiss him right then and there. Of course, she couldn't do that in public, but she could always dream about it. _  
_  
_~Like a snowball down a mountain  
Or a carnival balloon  
Like a carousel that's turning  
Running rings around the moon~  
  
_He kissed her more quickly now, his lips touching her arms, her hands, her body until she sank completely into him. Her pale skin against his darker tones, they melded together perfectly onto the clean sheets.   
  
Nice bed, she murmured, concerned with other matters at the time. He looked up at her and grinned. She felt another shock of desire run through her. Damn, what gave him the right to be so . . . beautiful and masculine and desirable all at the same time? His black hair was mussed from where she'd slid her fingers, but it suited him so much more than that sleek style he usually sported. That kissable dimple in his chin was even more prominent as he bit his lips in some strange bit of nervousness.   
  
Christian. . . she whispered harshly into his ear. Christian. . .   
  
He whispered something that she couldn't quite hear, but before she could make it out, he kissed her fiercely and the world turned hazy before her eyes. _  
  
~Like a clock whose hands are sweeping  
Past the minutes of its face~  
  
_Christian kissed her again, his mind wandering back to those first, sweet days in Paris. Before the Duke had become a reality, when it simply had been the diamond and the poet against the world. How he had climbed up to sing with her, and they had made love together in the red room until the sun brushed the sky awake. He felt the unaccountable crush of longing press his chest down until he gasped for breath. She pulled back briefly, her blue eyes filled with concern.   
  
Darling, what is it?   
  
Christian shook his head quickly. He brought her close again, treasuring the feel of her skin against his hand. Fire and ice in those passionate lips, he thought as their lips met again. So wonderful she was. . .  
  
_~And the world is like an apple  
Whirling silently in space  
Like the circles that you find  
In the windmills of your mind~  
  
_Fire. Fire led to ashes. Ashes of . . .? A chill ran through his body, despite her hands and lips. Something wasn't right, he had to protect her, had to take care of his love.   
  
I love you, he whispered into her ear. She smiled at him in return as she fumbled with his clothes. He trapped her hand momentarily and stared into her icy blue eyes. They flashed with puzzlement for a minute, but that faded as he ran his hand down her cheek. I love you, my darling diamond.   
  
I know, dearest, I know. She went back to her work, tossing her red hair out of her face as she kissed the inside of his wrist, his palm, the tiny silver scar on his thumb. He wondered, with a vague sense of unease, how often she had kissed other men like that. A ripple of heat-- jealousy?-- ran through him. **  
**  
_~Like a tunnel that you follow  
To a tunnel of its own  
Down a hollow to a cavern  
Where the sun has never shone~  
  
_Jealousy. Anger. Betrayal.   
  
He knew those words, had felt that. As he lay next to her on the bed, his eyes wandered over the ceiling and out towards the stars. She had fallen asleep in his arms, but sleep had pulled her away from him. She lay there unmoving, her dark red hair staining the pillow like blood. He rose, careful not to wake her. Her crimson lips parted slightly, but she stayed asleep.   
  
The night was calm outside. There were a few dark wisps of midnight cloud that bled into the sky, but mostly the encrusted gems of the stars ruled the sky. He leaned his head against the window frame and closed his eyes. He let himself wander off into memory into a happier time, before the creeping darkness had begun to mar their perfect love. _  
_**  
**_~Like a door that keeps revolving  
In a half-forgotten dream  
Or the ripples from a pebble   
Someone tosses in a stream~  
  
_ Satine laughed as he pulled her down on the bed with him. Not so fast, I haven't even got my hat off yet! The hat flew across the room in a straw-coloured blur and she laughed happily, her hair falling out of the neat chignon Marie had put it in this morning. She put her arms about him and kissed him hard as he pulled the sheets up. Then she--  
  
She stirred in the bed behind him, pulling the sheets up to hide her slim body from the world's view. He glanced back, and the memory was dismissed in favor of reality. Her dark red hair fell loosely over her shoulders as she stretched her arms out. Her moves had the careless grace of a feline.   
  
  
  
I'm coming, he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. The smell of rain was in the air, and he blinked back sudden tears. Where had those come from? And why? A sweet sort of melancholy touched him. It was the sort of beautiful darkness that came from seeing too much beauty in the sky.   
_  
~Like a clock whose hands are sweeping  
Past the minutes of its face  
And the world is like an apple  
Whirling silently in space  
Like the circles that you find  
In the windmills of your mind~  
  
_Afterwards, they lay together, exhausted, and Christian let his mind drift away from the room. Away to the shining dance floors of the Moulin Rouge. . . that first night when he'd wandered into the underworld. He'd been unprepared for what had followed, that was for certain.   
  
He raised his head and gazed up at the gigantic windmills gilding silently above him. It was astonishing. The sheer excess of it all-- the glitter, the hints of the beautiful women, the music was as intoxicating as the glass of absinthe he'd just had.   
  
Amazing, isn't it? Toulouse asked him, swaying a little on his feet. The small man waved his walking stick in the air, barely missing Satie's stomach. The amazing part is. . . they're windmills of the mind. The whole Moulin Rouge is.  
  
Christian craned his neck to look up at where the velvet curtains were rippling. Harold Zidler, Toulouse had said. He wondered idly what the man would be like. And Satine, this sparkling diamond he was supposed to meet. Would she be beautiful?   
  
Everything here depends on what you make of it. He waved a drunken hand around, gesturing at the suited patrons, the hints of the dancers as their shadows crossed backstage. Anything can happen as long as you believe it. A can-can girl can fall in love with you, as long as it's in your head. He tried to tap Christian's forehead, but ended up banging on his knee.   
  
The windmills are in your mind, my friend, the Argentinean broke in, resting a heavy hand on Christian's shoulders. The young poet's face stayed blank, and he shrugged. You'll find out soon enough what I mean. And you'll never be the same. You'll see windmills wherever you go.   
**_  
_**_~Keys that jingle in your pocket  
Words that jangle in your head  
Why did summer go so quickly?  
Was it something that you said?~**  
  
**_****Heroes forever and ever, Satine murmured as she applied her makeup the next morning. Christian was supposed to be leaving out the elephant's back, but he loitered in the doorway for a few moments longer, watching her.   
  
It's the summer of love, he said softly, watching her with eyes filled with adoration.   
  
Yes. . . she replied. She glanced back at him with a tiny frown on her face and coughed twice. Christian frowned a little. That cough sounded like something was rattling in her lungs, waiting to rush up and overwhelm her.   
  
Are you all right? Satine smiled slightly and shrugged.   
  
Just a silly old cough I've had for a time. I'm sure it's nothing.   
  
You're sure? Christian asked carefully, eyes searching her face for any sign of . . .what? Something wrong, he decided.  
  
Satine said dismissively. Now, go-- go, my love.  
  
But I'll see you tonight? Satine's face softened a little at that. She ran a makeup brush over her face, watching how it caressed the gentle curves.  
  
she said, smiling into his eyes. I'll see you tonight. Christian smiled at her in return, then slipped out of the elephant. His heart was filled with joy, and for a moment Satine sat, dreamily drifting in the same direction.   
  
Then the cough came again.   
  
_~Lovers walk along a shore  
And leave their footprints in the sand  
Is the sound of distant drumming  
Just the fingers of your hand?~**  
  
**_**** Christian ran to catch up with her, his breath coming and going unevenly. Satine paused, and folded her arms expectantly.   
  
Is it my fault that you insisted on writing a poem about those rocks? she said, an eyebrow arched at him.   
  
They weren't just rocks, Christian said defensively. He folded up his paper and tucked it in his jacket. Satine tried to hold a stern face for a little longer, but it didn't work. As she laughed, she noticed that this side of the lake was nearly deserted. Probably a good thing, too. She and Christian were both barefooted and walking hand in hand. The summer breeze ran its soft fingers through her hair, and the gentle lap of glittering waters against the shore was balm to her troubled soul. She took another step, noticing with wonder how the sand sank around her foot. Strange how she could spend hours observing the smallest thing now.   
  
She didn't need diamonds anymore. She just needed Christian by her side.   
  
What are you thinking about? he asked, lightly running a hand up and down her arm. Satine turned to look at him and rested her head on his shoulder. He was warm and tender, in every aspect of his life. She could feel the easy rise and fall of his breath as she studied the shape of his mouth and chin.   
  
  
**_  
_**_~Pictures hanging in a hallway  
And the fragment of a song  
Half-remembered names and faces  
But to whom do they belong?~  
  
_Christian brought himself back to the present with a sigh. Nothing beautiful lasted forever, he thought, staring moodily into the depths of the night. Flowers and faces faded. . . but diamonds were forever, he added bitterly. Yes, the diamonds would last forever.   
  
Come what may, he said slowly, tracing the pillow with his finger. The words tasted wrong in his mouth. He tried to swallow, but the ache of memory burned in his throat. I will love you. . until my dying day. He let his eyes wander around the room until they came to rest on the photograph of Satine, her eyes dark and serious. Somehow, he could only remember her eyes being that way. Never happy.   
  
Why?  
  
_~When you knew that it was over  
You were suddenly aware  
That the autumn leaves were turning  
To the colour of her hair~**  
  
**_****He couldn't remember her face as clearly as he used to. Christian covered his face, trying to blot out the memories of her lifeless body lying on the scattered rose petals. Crimson and white-- blood and innocence. That was what she'd been in that Hindi wedding gown, her brittle hair interwoven with diamonds. One part of her a virgin, the other part a whore. That was why he hated that memory. She hadn't been Satine then, the person who was so full of life and love that she'd taken joy in her footprints in the sand.   
  
She'd just been the sparkling diamond that someone broke. The clasp lay on the floor, the jewels scattered around. Like a valuable thing destroyed, they'd all mourned it. But had they really missed her and her beautiful smile?   
  
He remembered sitting there, holding her all night, just crying. He'd cried through sleep, tears running down his face even as his breath slowed. And she hadn't moved, even though he'd begged her to come back to him.   
  
Eventually, grey morning came, and Chocolat had gently pried his arms loose of her body.   
  
Come, Christian. You have to let go.   
  
So he had. He'd had to let go of his love, and in a way, his own life. Things weren't right without Satine. They seemed colourless and empty. He existed. He didn't live.   
  
As he'd walked out into the snow, a single leaf the colour of her hair at death-- a darkened blight on those smooth scarlet waves-- fell to the ground. He watched the leaf, not daring to move. It made a single spot of colour on that white ground.   
  
He stayed there a long time, until a passerby stepped on the leaf.   
**_  
_**_~Like a circle in a spiral  
Like a wheel within a wheel  
Never ending or beginning  
On an ever-spinning reel  
As the images unwind  
Like the circles that you find  
In the windmills of your mind~_**  
  
**Christian, what are you doing? Marguerite rolled over to face him, her red hair trailing behind her. In the harsh light of dawn, he felt the last trickles of illusion leave him. With the angles of her face softened by the candlelight, he'd almost convinced himself that it was Satine. But the eyes were just a hair too small, the chin not quite so pointed. He'd never really believed that it was the woman he loved. It had been. . . nice, though, to let himself escape one last time.   
  
Just thinking, he replied absently.   
  
Decided if you're going to England yet? she asked, gathering her clothes and pinning up her hair as she spoke. She paused to check her makeup in the glass, and he smiled wryly at her. She'd been a good friend. He'd be sorry to leave her.   
  
I'm going, he answered quietly. Marguerite began dressing quickly, anxious to get away from the room.   
  
Good, then. I'll miss you, Christian. Come back and see me sometime. She was nearly dressed as she approached the door. She hated goodbyes. She'd made that clear enough the night before. He would miss her, though, a little. Oh-- Christian?   
  
  
  
You called me your diamond.   
  
I did?  
  
Not that I have a problem with that, Marguerite assured him. I just thought it was funny. I don't usually get called a diamond. Makes me think of the Moulin Rouge. Wasn't the lead called the brilliant diamond?   
  
  
  
Did you ever go there? She jerked her head towards the decrepit windmills that hung noiselessly outside.   
  
A few times, he said quietly. He looked down and touched the blankets beneath him. He took a breath and let the memories slip away from him. He had to move on. Learn to live, learn to love again, Christian. It just. . .hurt, that's all.   
  
What's it like?   
  
He grinned then, suddenly and savagely.   
  
My dear Marguerite, he announced theatrically, bowing towards the vision of the dead nightclub. That all depends on what's in your mind.   
  
**Finis. **


End file.
